


Brother's Keeper

by a_shepherd



Series: The Young Aral Series [3]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Little Brothers, Protective Older Brothers, family ties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:36:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_shepherd/pseuds/a_shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a 2013 Ficathon prompt by ana: Vorkosigan brothers fic - you choose which brothers and timeline. In two parts - a glimpse of Aral, from his brother's viewpoint, and vice versa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Heir

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [ana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ana/pseuds/ana) in the [Bujold_Ficathon_2013](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Bujold_Ficathon_2013) collection. 



> Sorry it's been so long in coming. Real life interfered in a BIG, BIG hugely gobsmacking way, including a dead computer!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a 2013 Ficathon prompt by ana: Vorkosigan brothers fic - you choose which brothers and timeline. 
> 
>  
> 
> In two parts: First, a glimpse of Aral from his brother's viewpoint. Next, vice versa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to a prompt by ana in the Bujold_Ficathon_2013 collection. Sorry it's been so long in coming. Real life interfered in a BIG, BIG hugely gobsmacking way, including a dead computer!

_Aral, come on down. Mama says you haven’t been home all day. She’s very worried about you. I am, too._  

Selig Xav Vorkosigan stood at the base of tree looking up toward the treehouse, very nearly invisible even if you knew _exactly_ where to look. Aral had cleverly designed it that way. He had designed the whole thing that first post-war summer, after pouring over dozens of books on architecture and spending weeks searching for the perfect location. It had a stunning view of the lake and most importantly, was difficult to see from the ground. Incredibly, years later, even the General-their-Father knew nothing about it, and the few armsmen who did were sworn to keep it that way, not that they needed much persuading.  

_C’mon, Aral! I know you’re up there. Come down so we can talk._  

As soon as he’d gotten home from Hassadar, he searched for his brother. He wasn’t in his room, or the library, and both his sailboat and the rowboat were still at the dock, so it had to be the treehouse he’d sought solace and sanctuary in. Selig knew Aral was upset. Hell, he had every right to be. He himself was, too.  

_If you’re not going to come down, at least toss the rope down so I can come up. I wanted to talk to you this morning before I had to leave, but you’d already gone out running._  

Since the family had first come to the lake house after the war, Aral had been in the habit of running, very early in the morning, in the hills surrounding the lake. He’d become a champion cross-country runner at his school, easily keeping pace with the oldest boys. He thought nothing of an eight kilometer run, in any and all weather. The armsmen had given up keeping up with him, on the theory that he’d be able to outrun any possible threat. Laziness on their part? Maybe, but very probably true. With Aral, it was his stamina rather than sheer speed that made him the formidable runner he was. 

He once jokingly asked Aral whatever possessed him to get out of a warm, cozy bed on icy mornings, or on already steamy summer ones to run. His quiet answer stunned him. Aral said that running gave him a high, even if just running against himself or against the clock. But when he was very upset, angry, or both, by running against the emotional pain - driving himself through it when part of himself wanted to give in and quit as the other half desperately urged him to keep on - he was able to force his mind and body to conquer the pain and finally float free.  _That_ was the high that made it worth it... 

He remembered thinking at the time that that was awfully deep (and a little sad) for someone so young, but that was Aral for you. Selig didn’t doubt running helped his brother to work off his frustrations as well as making the kid incredibly fit, but in his opinion, Aral would be so much better off slamming doors, throwing things, shouting profanities, punching holes in walls, letting it all out… A lot like Da, actually, now that he thought about it, but his little brother was much too well-behaved for any of that. So he ran. He was so intense and tightly controlled nearly all the time… always pushing himself. It couldn’t possibly be healthy for him keeping his feelings bottled up the way he did. 

_I know you’re dying to know why I’m home so early and not still with Da. Let me up and I’ll give you all the gory details. I’m still pretty gobsmacked by it myself!_

If he knew Aral, that ought to get some results soon, but as a precautionary measure, he threw out his ace in the hole. 

_Oh, and by the way, I managed to find a copy of that book on Lord Vorwyn’s Siege of Vorkosigan Vashnoi you’ve been wanting.  Pretty good condition, too._  

He had promised his brother a week ago they’d attend the last day of Summerfest together in Hassadar today. Aral had been beside himself with anticipation all week. The annual re-enactment of the Siege of Vorkosigan Vashnoi by Lord Vorwyn of Hazelbright during the First Bloody Century was _always_ a huge favorite of his. He’d laugh himself silly at the irony of their ancestor, Count Selig Vorkosigan, smuggling horses - _horses! -_ in and out of the besieged townin plain sight! Personally, despite the fact that his namesake was the hero of the piece, Selig had always thought the whole thing was a real snoozer. _Yawn!_ It was just a train of pack horses being walked into mockups of the the now incinerated city’s walls by costumed Dendarii veterans past equally costumed villagers representing Hazelbright’s forces, who pantomimed inspecting the saddlebags for contraband. As everyone in the district well knew, the _horses_ , not the contents of the saddlebags, were the contraband! Aral, history wonk that he was, was a sucker for that kind of thing, He loved every supremely cheesy second of it, no matter _how_ many times he saw it. But that was Aral for you. 

Noises from up above were followed shortly by the thick, knotted rope that served as their access in and out of the treehouse. He had argued unsuccessfully for years for a rope ladder, at least, but Aral prevailed. With a sigh of resignation, he tucked the book in his waistband, rubbed his hands together, and began what was (for him) an arduous, hand-over-hand climb. Aral always scampered up effortlessly, laughing at his big brother’s clumsy efforts. He was seemingly part monkey, if his climbing skills were any indication. His climbing skills, like all the rest of them, were superb, of course. 

When Selig was just short of the open trapdoor, Aral reached down to lend him a hand. He grabbed it thankfully and heaved himself up onto the platform with a grunt, shutting the door behind him. 

_About bloody time! Were you planning on brooding up here forever, Mouse?*_

Aral just shrugged. He looked so tired - probably hadn’t slept much last night - and tense, his eyes hooded and jaw muscles twitching. Given the absence of reading materials of _any_ kind, Selig knew that was an indication of just _how_ upset he was. It was all so damn unfair! Aral was such a _good_ kid… A top student, beautiful manners, thoughtful and considerate, obedient and nearly reverential to his elders. He couldn’t possibly be more unlike most of the younger siblings of his fellow heirs, many of whom never bothered to conceal what looked to him like raw resentment of their older brother’s status. Heh! Barrayaran history was knee deep in bloody tales of younger siblings who had taken those resentments and jealousies to the next murderous level. 

His own stomach had been churning all day over the matter that had made Aral so upset. At dinner last night, Da told him he wanted him by his side all day while he did some political wheeling and dealing along with some networking with the District’s bigwigs who would also be in attendance at the Summerfest festivities, acting as what he’d come to think of (and _not_ in a good way) as an ‘apprentice count.’ Ugh! Father had been on his case most of the summer about that ‘apprenticeship’ ever since he turned sixteen a few months back. None of his usually effective charm offensives worked to dissuade the Count-his-Father that there was plenty of time for that yet, so he’d been obliged to attend no end of what were to him mind-numbingly boring village council meetings, district courts, and the like. If Da had actually enjoyed it himself that would have different, but as the count, he went at it with grim determination, doing his duty as a liege lord, as if he’d rather be doing just about anything else. Selig could certainly sympathize... 

Things had gone downhill rapidly after that. Da had been in a foul mood the past few days since learning he’d have to cut short his stay at the lake house to return early to the capital for what he proclaimed would be a bullshit emergency council session - in reality, nothing but a lot of noise and political posturing called with the sole purpose of inconveniencing one party or another. _As if Da hasn’t engaged in a fair bit of that himself_ , he had thought. The General had been exceptionally pissy with everyone since, causing the entire staff and all the armsmen to tiptoe around as if on eggshells, attempting to stay out of his line of fire as much as possible. 

He really _should_ have been on the defensive given Da’s demeanor, but at the sight of Aral’s doleful, crestfallen expression, he allowed his face to reflect his own displeasure. Da noticed quickly, and asked in an ominous tone what the problem was. Mama was subtly signaling him to back off, but in a fit of pique, he ignored her, and told his father he had been planning on spending the whole day with Aral. 

Selig had come to realize in the past few weeks just how _much_  he enjoyed his younger brother’s company. They’d had relatively little time together over the summer what with Da dragging him along on district affairs whenever he was at the lake house, and frequent visits by a group of fellow Vor scions his age (give or take a few years), waggishly dubbed ‘The Heir Club’ by Thibaud Vorrutyer, who considered himself quite the wit. _He_ considered him obnoxious. Aral jokingly referred to the group as his entourage. Since he would be starting back to his prep school in a few days for his last year before the academy, he was genuinely looking forward to spending the day with Aral, who was always a good companion, more so now than ever. Smart as a whip, clever, loyal, honest, endlessly energetic, and quickly developing a delightfully dry wit (often at his own expense), he was such a pleasure to have around. Selig was well aware (and not ashamed to admit) that even though he was five years younger, Aral was easily the more mature of the two of them, and a good influence on him. Mama, he knew, was in complete agreement, and was openly overjoyed at how close the two of them were gradually becoming. Their age difference seemed to matter much less than it had in previous years. He very much regretted not having spent more time with Aral over the summer, and had the good grace to be embarrassed that the kid looked up to him so much. He really didn’t deserve it…   

Glowering at him, neck vein throbbing, Da had asked him in that tone of voice if he thought wasting a day with Aral was more important than learning his duties as the future count, and began spouting the usual platitudes he’d heard _ad nauseum_ since the end of the Occupation: how it was never too early to start building alliances and beginning to currying favor with high ranking officials, and the necessity of maneuvering people in such a way as to put them in your debt for the inevitable day when you’d have to call in favors; etc., etc., etc. It was all beginning to sicken him… 

Keenly aware he was on thin ice, he had sulked and said nothing. Aral, defensively, had gone into his Invisible Man Mode - silent, eyes down, his expression as neutral as possible, but to no avail. Da turned his anger on him. When he wouldn’t (or couldn’t) reply when asked what he had to say for himself, Da thundered that he didn’t take such insolence from _anyone_ and an attitude adjustment was clearly in order! Aral was to be grounded for the remainder of the family’s stay in Vorkosigan Surleau, and as such, he would _not_ be going to the Summerfest or anywhere else. 

It had been a toss-up as to who was more stunned - Aral, himself, or Mama, although she recovered quickly enough to look daggers at Da’s retreating back as he stormed off to his after-dinner drinks in the library. Aral excused himself and left quickly. Selig had thought it a very good thing their little sister Galina was away at the shore with their Vorpatril cousins. She was as fiercely protective of Aral as he was of her, and she would have had some choice words in his defense, most likely inadvertently making things even worse for him. 

As hot-tempered and outspoken as their father, she was his darling, his ‘Little Princess.’ Personally, Selig regarded her as quite a little hellion who got away with far more than even _he_ ever had, especially with Da, and that was saying a lot! As Daddy’s Little Princess, she had him totally wrapped around her little finger and she knew it. Did she ever! Oddly enough, Aral didn’t seem to resent the unfairness of it at all, and she, to her credit, was devoted to him. 

Heh! Snorting, he recalled an _extremely_ memorable occasion last summer when seven year old Galina and her (then) best friend Celine Vorbataille had been playing with their dolls near Mama’s garden, having a mock tea party. Aral, ever helpful, had volunteered to take a tray of real tea things from Mama, leaving it with the two girls on his way to the dock to meet him for a swim. Not five minutes later, the two boys heard angry shouting followed by hideous screams, and ran to where the girls were only to find Galina sitting on top of her red-faced and crying friend, with a fistful of hair held triumphantly in her upraised arm! The Vorbataille girl, sobbing pitifully, sporting a bloody nose and the beginnings of a black eye, had been taken home by a Vorkosigan armsman, with apologies from the Countess. Galina glared at them, muttering “What a crybaby!” as they departed. 

Furious and feisty, Galina explained to Mama that Celine had said Aral was ‘funny looking, with those mutie eyes’ and _just who did she think she was anyway???_ Teary-eyed, sniffling, and full of righteous indignation on her favorite brother’s behalf, Lina told Mama Aral _was not_ funny looking at all - he wasn’t! _He has such pretty eyes,_ she’d said, _silver ones - just like yours and Gran’s,_ and asked if that meant Aral was royal, too, like both princesses. 

Mama had laughed delightedly, and Aral, poor kid, was as mortified as only a ten year old boy could be when the Princess-their-Mother said that yes, indeed, Lord Aral certainly was! That was Aral for you! Later that evening, after hearing about the incident from Mama, half the armsmen, and probably Count Vorbataille by then, much to everyone’s surprise (they’d all expected he’d be furious) Da proclaimed that Lina certainly had his temper, and seemed inordinately proud of it! Go figure… 

_Well, aren’t you going to ask? You know you want to! I’m still finding it hard to believe myself! I consider it a moral victory, and you know how I usually avoid those if at all possible._  

Aral’s somber expression cracked a little at that, with just a hint of a grin. He scooted over on the bench facing the open side of the room (with that glorious view) to make room for his brother. Selig sat down beside him, draping an arm across his shoulders. While Aral was still considerably small for almost eleven, it seemed to him his shoulders were definitely starting to broaden, just a bit. A good sign, perhaps… or maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part. 

_I am so, so sorry about what happened yesterday, Little Mouse. You did nothing to deserve being punished. I should have said something then and there in your defense. But I kept putting it off until this afternoon to say anything to Da. He had told me earlier I could leave to spend time with my ‘little friends’ - don’t you just love that expresssion? - after we finished district business. I know he really wanted me to stay with him - to show me off to his cronies like one of his prize stallions, belike, but I somehow got up enough nerve to tell him I was going home to be with you, because as he always says, a count’s first duty is to his family above all else, after his liege lord the emperor, of course. I told him I intended to build as strong a relationship with you as possible because I was counting on you to be my right hand man caring for our District some day. Heh! I’m not at all sure whether it was my dazzling rhetoric or if he was merely stunned into silence, but I sure as hell didn’t wait around to find out! And just so you know, I don’t consider any time spent with you as wasted..._  

Aral’s head snapped around, his luminous grey eyes wide in jaw-dropping, speechless disbelief. 

_I’m not strong like you, Mouse. I don’t mean physically strong, although pound for pound, you’re possibly the strongest boy your age on the planet. And your stamina is off the charts - it’s exhausting just watching you! No, I mean mentally strong. What’s that Betan expression Gran uses… something about ticking? ‘Takes a licking and keeps on ticking’  - or something like that? Yeah, that’s you all over! It’s got to be awfully difficult, I should think, always trying to do the right thing when there are so many easier options. I admire that._  

Aral was totally gobsmacked  - speechless, blinking slowly. Selig continued, hugging the younger boy closer. At least he didn’t pull away... 

_I do, Mouse. I can’t tell you how much I do. I wish I had it in me to be like that, but I don’t. The Path of Least Resistance, that’s my default mode. I don’t like to make waves. I’d much sooner just keep my head down and go with the flow. I don’t know if that makes me a bad person or not…  Um, and while I’m being confessional, I have something else to get off my chest along those lines. It’s been bugging the hell out of me all summer. Last night just brought it into focus._  

_Remember that time the Heir Club was here, before my birthday? When Thibaud Vorrutyer kept going on and on and on about why you were always hanging around with us, since you were merely the spare, and a few of the others picked up on it, too, trying to get rid of you by ordering you off on all those idiotic errands as if you were one of the house servants?_  

Beside him, Aral nodded. Selig sighed - this wasn’t going to be easy for him to admit. He owed it to the kid, though, for the way he’d hurt him then. Not intentionally, it was true, but as a consequence of taking the easy way out, as he so often did when faced with a quandary. Selig Vorkosigan did not like quandaries, no sir, and avoided them like the plague.  

_I told 'em the only reason I let you hang out with us was because Mama ordered me to, and what a princess wants, a princess gets. THAT was something they all understood, and it shut ‘em all up and got them off my back. You just stood there and took it. I think you had left by the time they started grousing about what infernal pests younger brothers could be, with lots of sympathy for my position. I should have apologized later, but I was too ashamed... Please, tell me you know I didn’t mean it..._  

He felt his brother’s back and shoulders stiffen beneath his arm, but he still didn’t pull away.  

_I’ve learned this summer that I very much enjoy having you around. Seriously! I was really looking forward to us spending the day together today. I’m terribly sorry we didn’t do it more often. I’ve also learned that, God help me, I like being top dog in my little social circle. Heh! Great term, eh - ‘social circle’? What a crock! Most of ‘em are nothing but social climbers and brown-nosers… junior versions of what they’ll be in the Council of Counts someday, feeding off any perceived weaknesses they see in each other. And me, too, eventually, which they’ll use against me if and when they can. Sad, isn’t it? But that’s Barrayar in a nutshell…_

_Look, I’m no genius - that’s you - but I’m smart enough to know that my leader-of-the-pack status has nothing at all to do with my leadership abilities or my character and EVERYTHING to do with who our great-grandfather was, who our grandfather is, and especially, who Da is. Don’t shrug it off like that, Mouse - you know it’s true as well as I do. We all have our roles to play, and for better or for worse, Highest of High Vor Scions is mine. I wish to hell Great-Uncle Yuri had an heir. After Grand’da and Uncle Mischa, it’s me - ugh! - until Uncle Mischa starts procreating, anyway. Hopefully soon. VERY soon… I’d much rather be a backcountry hillman._  

Aral snorted lightly in sympathy. Selig felt the boy’s taut back muscles relax a little. 

_I never intended to hurt you, Mouse. I know you were, and you had every right to be. I don’t blame you at all. I’d like to promise I’ll never pull anything like again, not with you, anyway. But like I said, I’m not strong that way, so if you ever see me doing anything like that again, as your future liege lord, I order you to bring it to my attention immediately, say - with a smack upside the head or the like! I’m pretty dense when it comes to stuff like that, so it might take several tries._  

He snuck a glance down to see Aral grinning. He was completely relaxed now, and leaning against him comfortably. It felt so good to get that confession out. It had been gnawing at him since it happened, but he’d been too embarrassed to do it sooner. With the return to school looming in a few days, he did not want to leave his brother with any bad feeling between them.  

_So here’s what we’re going to do. Da’s leaving early tomorrow for at least a couple of days. You and I are going to spend the entire day together, dusk to dawn.  Maybe two days, if I can get someone to pack my school stuff for me. You and me, joined at the hip, as it were. Anything you want to do, just name it. Since you’re grounded, we’ll have to stay on the estate or as close to it as possible - no sense making things worse for you when Da gets back, eh? But it’ll be your choice, alright? Just us, Little Mouse. Are we good?_  

Aral’s grin had spread from ear to ear. He wouldn’t swear to it but there might have been a hint of water in those deep grey eyes. As they made their descent down the rope, Selig snickered as a thought occurred. 

_Oh, and by the way? At the Reenactment? With our illustrious ancestor? During the Siege? Turns out it was HORSES old Selig was smuggling. He was smuggling horses in plain sight! Imagine that! Awesome, right? Heh! Just thought you’d want to know…_  

They laughed until their faces hurt and their sides were sore, all the way to the house. It felt good. Oh, yeah... tomorrow was going to be an even more unforgettable day for the Brothers Vorkosigan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end of the work for more notes.
> 
>  
> 
> *see Refresher Course ((http://archiveofourown.org/works/1506980) for the origin of the nickname


	2. The Spare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of Brother's Keeper - Aral's brother, as seen through his adoring little brother's eyes.

          The water was unusually cool for this time of the year, but the day was cloudless, the sunlight glistening on the water, an absolutely stunning late summer day. Aral sipped his hard cider slowly, stretching languidly while warming in the sun, savoring the coolness of the brew, tasting last fall’s apples. His gaze fell on his big brother, lying on his back, dark eyes closed and soft black curls touslingin the lightbreeze. Da had been grousing about it for weeks, calling its end-of-summer non-regulation length, so popular with young people these days, a sure sign of creeping Galactic (read: _Betan_ ) decadence. Selig Xav, a very grown-up sixteen years old, nonchalantly dangled a line in the water with his toes, stirring only occasionally to sip at his own bottle. 

      The day was bittersweet for Aral. His brother was leaving in two days to begin his last year at prep school before starting at the military academy. He knew they probably would never get to spend this much time together again for a very, very long time. Siggie had been apologizing all day for the events that lead to Da grounding him yesterday and thus being unable to go to the Summerfest together as they had planned. He kept trying to assure him he didn’t blame him for any of it.  Aral fervently hoped Sig believed him, not wanting them to part until Winterfair on a sour note.

      The General had left early that morning for Vorbarr Sultana on Council business for the next few days. Aral and Selig had started out very shortly after sunrise with a picnic hamper loaded with a day’s meals packed by the two of them the night before - several kinds of sandwiches, both sweet and savory piroshki from that new bakery in town, cheeses, an assortment of their favorite cakes and pastries, the last of the summer peaches as big as your fist, and the pickled green beans from Mama’s garden they both loved. They had spent the picture-perfect day sailing, swimming and fishing off the floating platform anchored well out on the lake. Nothing much was biting to Selig’s loud but faux consternation. They both knew their so-called fishing expedition was merely an excuse to be out on the water together, drinking the cider Selig had audaciously smuggled out of the wine cellar, now being kept cool in the water over the side of the platform. Anything they did manage to catch was simply icing on the cake… Aral grimaced at the thought that conjured up (fortunately briefly!) of fish frosting.… _Eww! Gross!_

      He’d always worshipped his brother Siggie - so very handsome and already quite a bit taller than Da, with merry dark eyes and those loose Vorrutyer curls, always oh-so-charming, all the things he himself was not and despaired of ever being. They’d become closer that summer than ever before, with Sig tentatively defending and siding with him on a few occasions, most memorably yesterday, to the General-their-Father’s increasing annoyance but their mother’s not-so-secret delight and pride, not to mention his own eternal gratitude. 

      He expected major fireworks from Da after Siggie returned from the Summerfest early yesterday evening, but it seemed Sig actually _had_ pulled it off - the Count-their-Father seemed to have decided to interpret his oldest son’s uncharacteristic act of rebellion as meaning young Lord Vorkosigan was acting as a right and proper count should - looking out for family first and foremost, rather than as any criticism of his own behavior. Da would _never_ openly criticize his beloved heir, certainly not in front of either of them, although Aral _had_ overheard him muttering darkly about ‘Selig’s new attitude’ to Mama on several occasions throughout the summer. 

       Selig sat up, stretching and blinking in the bright sunlight and reeled in a new bottle. He popped the top and took a long slow swig, looking at Aral with barely concealed amusement. Aral himself had two lines in the water, and with his right hand, was carefully cooking the few small fish they had managed to catch on a special floating grill he had rigged up last year for use on the platform. With his left hand he was browsing through the new book Selig had gotten for him yesterday, about the Siege of Vorkosigan Vashnoi by Lord Vorwyn of Hazelbright. 

      “Y’know, Mouse,”* the older boy drawled, “we’re _supposed_  to be relaxing out here.” 

      “I _am_ relaxing, Sig.”

      Selig laughed, reached down, and whipped up a large spray of water, splashing him, causing him to fumble the book and nearly drop it over the side while trying to keep the water from dousing the flames currently cooking their dinner.

      “Um, you’ve got a nibble over there,” he helpfully pointed out, causing Aral to fumble yet again to keep the rod from going overboard along with the book. Selig looked hugely amused, taking yet another long swig, saluting him smartly with the bottle. “You _are_ aware, aren’t you,” he smirked, “that most people’s idea of relaxation does NOT involve doing three things at once?”  

      Aral blushed, and tried to hide his embarrassment by fussing over the frying fish, attempting to flip them carefully without having them flake apart. Siggie teased him quite frequently about being what he jokingly called a ‘hyperactive overachiever.’ Well, he could hardly deny it, but it wasn’t like he was doing it _intentionally_...

      “But then, you’re not most people, are you?” his brother said affectionately. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. By the way, that…” gesturing with the bottle toward the floating cooking apparatus, “smells amazing! What do you say we eat our dinner now? I find all this relaxing really works up the old appetite, don’t y’think? ”

      Aral just had to laugh at that. That was just _so_ Siggie, always putting people at their ease. They both set to work, laying out a blanket and emptying the picnic basket. _Growing boys or not, there’s an awful lot of food for just the two of us,_ he thought. He plated their fish, and they dug in. _Siggie’s right - relaxing does work up an appetite! An outsider watching us might think those two poor boys haven’t eaten in a week…_

      After cleaning up after their meal, a little groggy from the food and all that sun, (or more likely, all that cider - it had a deceptively potent kick, he was learning), both of them nodded off for a brief nap. When he woke, he sat up to the sight of Siggie observing him with an unusually thoughtful expression. 

      “Y’know, Mouse, I’ve always envied you NOT having to do The Count Thing.” 

      Aral was stunned! He didn’t know which was more shocking - the totally unexpectedness of the confession or the sentiment itself. He felt like an idiot, gaping at Siggie with his mouth open, blinking, completely at a loss for words. What did one say to something like that?

      With a wicked grin, Siggie smacked him smartly on the side of the head, clearly an invitation to rough-house, which Aral accepted with considerable gusto! That amazing statement would just have to wait... They tussled and grappled with a lot of grunting and even more laughter, both being careful to avoid too many splinters from the wooden platform. He had been getting some martial arts coaching over the summer from several of Da’s armsmen, and despite his brother’s overwhelming height and weight advantage, Aral managed to get the upper hand and actually maintain it, which surprised him as much as it filled him with a giddy thrill of achievement. Even more gratifying, though, was the look of utter astonishment on Siggie’s face, which made all the bumps and bruises he’d surely end up with tomorrow more than worth it! 

      Unable to break his hold, Selig unwisely attempted to knock him off balance and throw him off the platform, but Aral clamped on like a leech, and they went over the side together into the coolness of the lake. The two of them ended up spluttering and laughing uproariously, splashing water in each other’s faces like a couple of little kids at the beach.

     Once back on the platform, with both of them sprawled out on their stomachs to warm up and dry off, Selig continued with what he started to say earlier, picking up where he’d left off with that shocker about The Count Thing.

      “You and just about everyone else except Mama have been totally brainwashed by Da into believing I’m somehow God’s gift to humanity. Perfect Selig Xav Vorkosigan - the Great General’s heir. What. A load. Of crap! Don’t look so shocked, Mouse! Just because Da says so doesn’t make a thing true. What I want to know is how the hell did _you_ ever fall for it? _You’re_ the little genius in this family! _You_ of all people ought to know me better.” 

      Siggie’s intensity was overwhelming. Aral had never seen him like this before, so articulate and passionate. Obviously, under that easygoing, placid exterior, deep thoughts about his place in the scheme of things had been percolating, despite what he said yesterday about wanting more than anything to just go with the flow, avoiding any and all deep thinking and quandaries. He never dreamed his brother might feel this way. He found it deeply troubling. It scared him, a little. Selig was The Heir, for God’s sake! _End of discussion_ , as Da would say. 

      He sighed wistfully and got up to sit on the edge of the platform to ponder one of those quandaries Siggie disliked so much, dangling his legs in the water, looking out over the lake toward the old castle on the far shore, trying to gather his rapidly churning thoughts. Sig came over and sat down beside him, draping a long arm across his back. They sat in amiable silence, facing the soon-to-be setting sun. 

      “It’s true, Aral. You’d make a far better count than I ever will. We both know damn well that anything I can do you can do _so_ much better, with half the effort, which is pretty amazing when you think about it ‘cause you’re a lot younger and so much smaller. The Old Man’s blind if he can’t see it. I’ve been trying to figure out why not all summer.” 

      “Me, now - I am stunningly ordinary and not ashamed of it at all. Proudly average, that’s me! I’m a so-so student at best, a fair-to-middling sportsman at anything that doesn’t involve horses, quite happy doing just enough to get by, and relying on my _very_ considerable charm when _that’s_ not cutting it.” he said laughing, with a sly wink and a grin. “Although I will admit to having far superior gambling skills than you.”

      “I gamble well,” Aral countered in a half-heartedly defensive tone.

      “Hah! In your dreams, Mouse! It’s common knowledge throughout the district that anyone can easily make a few marks just by wagering that you won’t be able to sit still for more than ten minutes without some kind of reading material in your hands. Easy-peasy! _Everyone_ knows you just can’t resist a challenge AND you’re incapable of doing absolutely nothing. Honestly,” he laughed, beaming fondly and nudging him in the ribs, “it’s like taking candy from a baby!”

      Aral blushed, flustered. There was absolutely nothing he could say to that. It was embarrassingly all too true. But he _was_ getting better at it - with practice, he had gotten his time up to seven minutes. _Well, almost seven_... 

      Siggie snickered and tousled his hair, which he _knew_ full well he hated with a passion! “It’s no big secret, Mouse, when you consider that I’m going to be be Count Vorkosigan someday no matter what I do. Or more importantly, no matter what I _don’t_ do, so you’ll never catch _me_ swotting the way you do.”

      Selig dramatically slapped himself on the forehead. “Oh, right. I forgot! Brilliant little bugger that you are, you don’t _ever_ have to swot, do you?”

      When he put it _that_ way, Aral almost felt guilty. Of what, he wasn’t quite sure, though. “I’d gladly trade most of my brains for even a bit of your looks, Sig.”

      “You’re not _that_ bad in the looks department.” 

      “Said Lord Vorkosigan, damning with faint praise,” Aral muttered glumly.

      “Come off it!” Selig said with some force. “Seriously, Aral, I’ve never understood why you’re so down on yourself. You’re probably not going to be winning any beauty contests, it’s true, but there’s nothing wrong with your looks.”

      His looks, or rather the lack of them compared to his stunningly photogenic siblings had always been a sore point with him, in addition to his lack of height, but when it was put _that_ way... “Well, OK... so _maybe_ not, but in comparison to _you_ , or Cousin Ges, _anybody_ would look like the proverbial Ugly Duckling…”

      Selig spluttered, spraying a mouthful of cider, gasping, and barked, “Good God! You’re envious of _Ges?_ Ges _Vorrutyer?_ That little _weasel? Please_ tell me you’re not serious!” Eyes wide and mouth hanging open, he looked incredulous, totally gobsmacked.

      “Well, he _is_ beautiful, Sig! Maybe even almost as much as you.” 

      “Yeah, so? What of it? He’s _still_ a weasel! A turd! A galaxy class shithead! A word to the wise, dear brother - _stay away from those Vorrutyers!_ As far away as you can! They’re nothing but trouble!”

      It was Aral’s turn to be totally gobsmacked. He’d never seen his brother so hotly vehement, on any subject. It left him feeling out of his league - he’d had no clue Siggie felt that way, and he considered himself good at picking up on other people’s feelings. _You royally blew this one, Mouse..._

      “You know how I feel about Thibaud - no love lost there. I barely tolerate him as part of the Heir Club because he’s almost as high Vor as we are, AND - much as it pains me to say it - unfortunately, a relative. And Ges,” he hesitated, shuddering faintly, “flat out gives me the creeps. Nothing I can put my finger on, though. Sure, he can be exceedingly charming at times in that over-the-top, well-bred, suck-uppy kind of way. But he’s a user - surely you’ve seen enough to know _that!_ He reminds me of those nasty types who get off drowning kittens and pulling wings off butterflies for fun. If you ask me, it seems too horribly likely that the _only_ reason Thib brings that useless git along is that Ges is probably blackmailing him, and knowing the two of them even a little, you just _know_ it’s over something particularly vile.” He spat contemptuously over the side into the water, and shuddered again, his expression that of someone who has just discovered he’s recently stepped in something offensive. “And I get the distinct impression that beautiful little sister of theirs is going to be nothing but trouble when she’s older - she’s far too full of herself already. Our Lina seems like an angel in comparison!” 

      Aral was taken aback at Siggie’s vehemence. He himself hadn’t spent much time with either brother or their siblings. Apparently, as merely the spare, he just wasn’t of any interest to them and that suited him just fine, thank you very much. _The girl WAS awfully pretty, though..._

      Still looking uneasy and shaken, Selig asked, in that same dead serious tone, “D’you remember what Grandpére Vorkosigan used to say?”

      Aral snickered at the thought, and mimicked Old Selig’s thick Russian accent. “You can’t trust a Vorrutyer any further than you can throw him…” which had them both howling with laughter. “But he wasn’t exactly what you’d call an impartial observer, was he, Sig? I mean, he was married to one after all.”

      “My point exactly! That’s what’s known in the business as an informed source! He would know. Straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were.” Selig punched him on the shoulder; Aral pretended it hurt. “Let me clue you in on a dirty little secret, Little Mouse, free of charge... good looks aren’t everything.” 

      “All the same, nobody’s ever going to give _me_ a second look with the likes of you around.” 

 _“A-ha!”_ Selig barked. “S-o-o-o-o-o, is there someone you’d _like_ to be giving you a second look? Eh, Mouse? Huh? Is there? Might it be that lovely little Daria from the village? Wink, wink, nudge, nudge? I sure as hell wouldn’t mind her giving _me_ a second look!” He smirked outrageously, eyebrows waggling. “Well, we all know it isn’t Celestine Vorbataille!” (an incident recounted in Chapter One: The Heir)

      Aral, blushing furiously at the mention of that embarrassingly painful incident, punched Selig in the shoulder. 

      “Ahhh, geez, Aral,” Selig groaned, aggrieved. “That actually _hurt!”_ Frowning and rubbing his arm, he added, “Just give me the sign and I’ll be more than happy to stay out of sight at crucial moments to give you a leg up!” 

      They both snickered at that. “It’s in the rules, y’know,” Selig mused. “Etched in stone, I’m sure. _Nobody_ gets both brains AND beauty. I myself could do with a bit of your smarts. Heh… _more_ than a bit…”

      That crack drew snorts and snickers bordering on tipsy giggles from the two of them. Aral gave his brother a shy, appreciative look, and Selig beamed back at him, both of them overcome with deep brotherly affection and a bit too much of the hard cider. 

      “When _I’m_ Count Vorkosigan,” Selig said grandly, “I’m going to  appoint you to be my right hand man to handle all the intellectual heavy lifting behind the scenes while I take care of the baby kissing and judging sheep at agricultural fairs and the like. Or... should that be... baby judging and sheep kissing? I’ve never been quite sure which...” 

      “Oh, sure,” Aral said, voice dripping with mock disdain, “ _you_ get to do all the _fun_ stuff! That is just _s-o-o-o-o_ typical.” That brought on even more laughter, after which they just sat there quietly, basking in the warmth of the setting sun and their mutual deep affection.

      Aral fervently wished the day would never end and said a thankful little prayer to whoever such things were directed to that he had such a wonderful brother, and they’d been able to have a good relationship despite the difference in their ages. He’d always heard no end of horror stories from classmates about older brothers as Tormenter-In-Chief, making life miserable for their younger siblings, and he’d seen enough of it with family friends (they were notably short on kin) to know how true it was. He knew he must have been an infernal pest at times. Hell, a lot of _times_ , trying to tag along with Siggie like an overeager puppy, and Siggie never  seemed to mind - at least not very often. Aral understood, he really did, that at times he just wanted to be with his friends. Even if he _was_ only ten ( _almost_ eleven) years old, he understood a lot more than people gave him credit for. He was always amazed that Siggie truly didn’t seem to mind having him around, and went out of his way to spend some time with him, like today. So if his admiration for his big brother frequently bordered on worshipful, well, who could blame him?

      With the sun getting lower, Selig suggested they pack up and get back to the house so Mama wouldn’t be worried. She didn’t like them to be out on the water after dark. As they gathered their gear and stowed it on the boat, he proposed they go exploring in the Dendarii Gorge tomorrow with the new lightflyer. “Y’know... while the cat’s away...” 

 _This incredible day just keeps getting better!_ Aral thought. Another thought crossed his mind that he might actually only be dreaming… If so, it was a very wonderful dream. _The new lightflyer!_ _Yes!_ He couldn’t wait… maybe he could even convince Sig to let _him_ have a quick turn at the wheel for a few minutes. _Heh!_ _Da would go ballistic if he knew…_  

      Aral hauled in the anchor and set sail, expertly piloting the boat toward the shore and home, while Siggie reclined lazily, his sun-bronzed face turned toward the setting sun, offering admiring and occasionally hilarious comments on his sailing skills. His hero! As far as he was concerned, _nobody_ ever had a better brother! No matter what he said to the contrary, Siggie would always be beautiful and perfect in his mind. Da was _absolutely right_ about that!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *see Refresher Course ((http://archiveofourown.org/works/1506980) for the origin of the nickname

**Author's Note:**

> All the fic I've read here has Aral and his older brother in a rather adversarial relationship, but in my headcanon, it can't have been, since Aral calls him his "perfect brother" thirty some years later (IMO, it was one of the few things he and Piotr agreed on, for markedly different reasons). Again, in Mirror Dance, Aral still still thinks of his long lost brother and their relationship very fondly.  
> This is my take on it, as seen from the brother's eyes.


End file.
